


Twelve Days of Christmas

by parkouronweekends



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Brothers, Christmas, Conflict, Conflict Resolution, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, Murdock and Face Fight, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkouronweekends/pseuds/parkouronweekends
Summary: Counting up the 12 days until Christmas as HM and Templeton get into a fight and John is overwhelmed with a heavy workload and very little time at home with his sons. Set in the universe of Raising a Team, but the boys are teens. This will probably make sense even if you haven't read the main story; Hannibal is the dad and the other three are his adopted sons. This will be a shorter story with shorter chapters just as something different for Christmas.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	1. On the First Day of Christmas They Fight Around the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I know the 12 Days of Christmas technically starts on Christmas Day, but we are going to count upward instead. The boys are 14 (HM and BA) and 15 (Templeton) in this story, just for reference. (Set in the Raising a Team universe)

**Set in 1959**

**DAY ONE**

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a Convair YB-60!” HM sang at the top of his lungs, throwing tinsel haphazardly over the tree.

“Shut up, HM,” grumbled Templeton, shoving aside the wrapping paper BA had left on the floor. “This place is a mess. Dad is going to have a fit when he sees what you’ve done to the house.”

“Done?” shouted HM, kicking a pile of tinsel, which proceeded to stick to his clothes and shoes. “What I’ve done is decorate everything absolutely beautifully. Dad said we could decorate the tree while he was at work today.”

“Why does he even have to work on a Sunday?” snapped Templeton, sinking into John’s chair and crossing his arms. “It’s stupid.”

BA entered the room and glared at the twisted wrapping paper. One look at Templeton told him who had done it, but he held his temper and knelt, straightening the paper and setting the box he retrieved from his bedroom in the center to wrap. “What’s wrong, Temp?” he asked, focusing on his work but tuning his ears toward his older brother.

“What isn’t wrong?” groaned Templeton. “It’s almost Christmas, and Dad is working so much we barely see him. He couldn’t even decorate the tree with us. And on top of that, HM won’t shut up. What even is a Convair YB-65? There is no such plane.”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed HM, picking tinsel off his pants and throwing it over the tree. “Convair YB-60, on the other hand, is very real. Convair built exactly one and a half for prototype bombers. Think of how much fun it would be to explore that baby. They were both scrapped in ’52. Santa could rustle one up, though.”

“Santa?” asked Templeton, knowing his brother was being sarcastic but feeling very much in the mood to start an argument. “Oh, you believe in him still?”

“Of course I do,” nodded HM, reading Templeton’s snarky tone and shooting back with a calm and collected voice. “Who do you think brought you that beautiful baseball bat last year?”

“Dad, you moron,” mumbled Templeton, covering his face with his hands.

“Listen, you know what your problem is, Temp,” said HM, loading an entire branch with an armful of shiny tinsel, “you never lighten up. You know, I think you enjoy pouting.”

“I do not!” yelled Templeton, jumping to his feet. “You act like a baby all the time! Always shouting and saying stupid things and talking to yourself!”

“You’re shouting right now,” said BA, though both of his brothers were ignoring him.

HM put his hands on his hips and stared at Templeton. He looked like he was about to say something, but instead of speaking, he just stared until his eyes slowly starting crossing and his tongue began to push past his lips.

“That’s it!” growled Templeton, practically stepping on BA in his attempt to get to HM.

“Watch it!” cried BA, pulling the gift he was wrapping to safety as Templeton and HM connected and wrapped their arms around each other, each trying to wrestle the other to the ground.

“Let me go!” yelled HM. “You’re going to knock the tree over and ruin my glorious decorating.”

“Decorating! It looks like someone threw up tinsel and got it all over the tree and yourself,” shot back Templeton, using his right leg to sweep HM’s left knee and bring them both down to the floor.

BA stood to the side, watching his brothers grunt and moan as they tested their strength against each other and landed several good jabs into one another’s guts. He shook his head, knowing all he had to do was step closer, and both boys would stop, fearing the wrath of their muscular brother. While he was currently the shortest of the three, BA was built much broader and bulkier than HM or Templeton, and he had proven many times he was the strongest of the three.

“Ow!” shrieked HM when Templeton connected solidly with his ribs.

“That’s enough!” ordered BA, grabbing the fighting teens by the shoulders and pulling them apart. The punches stopped instantly, but Templeton remained rigid while HM shrank back, whimpering and letting his lower lip protrude slightly. “Gonna tear this place to the ground and really give Dad something to stress about when he gets home,” admonished BA, shaking his head.

The thought of stressing his overworked father out even more than necessary momentarily shamed Templeton, but his uncalled-for anger toward HM quickly raged back over him, and he started mumbling incoherently. Shrugging off BA’s hand and crossing the living room, Templeton thudded up the stairs to disappear into his bedroom.

HM took a nervous step forward, rubbing his neck dramatically even though Templeton had never touched him there, and groaned, “Gosh gee, big guy, what do you think got into Temp?”

“He’s worried about Dad,” said BA, watching Templeton disappear up the stairs. “We all are. He’s just more vocal about it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said HM. “I thought Dad would be happy to see the place all decorated when he got home tonight.”

“He will be,” said BA. “Come on. I’ll help you finish up. Give Temp some space for now.”

The two brothers spent the rest of the evening decorating the tree, cleaning pine needles and tinsel off the floor, and putting candles in the several windows visible from the street to give the house a homey, warm appearance.

“Now that oughtta be a good welcome home for Dad,” grinned HM, peering out through the lace curtains at the softly falling snow. The ground was still visible as the snow had come and melted throughout the late fall, but the flakes falling now seemed to be sticking, and there would surely be a covering of white by morning.

“We did good, brother,” said BA, slapping HM’s shoulder. “Let’s heat some supper for Dad. He’ll be home any minute.”

“Should we check on Temp?” asked HM, following BA to the kitchen.

“I think we should let him alone for the night,” said BA. “He’ll be too angry to talk.” HM nodded. Despite his teasing and poking at his older brothers, HM had great respect for both of them, and he knew that BA especially tended to be wise beyond his years. BA would know how to handle Templeton best.

The two brothers heated leftovers from their supper and set the table with an inviting appeal for their father, including a cup of eggnog they had saved from the treat their neighbor Mrs. Varjak had brought them that afternoon. HM dropped into his chair, pulling the airplane book he had gotten for his birthday the week before from under the table.

“Where did you have that?” asked BA, making a face.

“I stuck it in the space between the edging of the table and the leg,” said HM. “Always handy if I happen to be sitting here.”

“Sometimes I think you’re actually crazy, man,” scoffed BA, settling into his seat and shaking his head.

“Could be, BA,” grinned HM, leaning back and resting his feet on the table. “But I ain’t certified, and therefore the term ‘crazy’ is a misnomer and should be used in jest and nothing more.”

“As I said,” nodded BA, “crazy.”

The sound of the front door opening brought both boys to their feet, and they ran to meet John, excited for the few precious moments remaining in their evening before all three had to retire and rest up for a long day of school and work starting early the next morning.


	2. On the Second Day of Christmas John Quickly Falls Asleep

**DAY TWO**

“On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a new pair of gloves-”

“Oh, BA, not you, too!” whined Templeton, looking up from his sandwich. “HM has been making up stupid lyrics to that song all week. I’m at my wits end with the Twelve Days of Christmas.”

BA looked at his brother and tapped his milk carton. He wished he could think of a way to comfort Templeton, but everything that came to mind seemed like it would further upset the older boy. BA wasn’t sure what had dragged Templeton into such a terrible mood, to begin with, but it was no use asking. Templeton didn’t seem anxious to share his heart at the moment.

“Hey, how’s the morning!” greeted HM, sliding onto the bench beside Templeton and nudging his brother playfully.

“Back off, HM,” snapped Templeton, shifting further down the seat.

HM set his lunch tray onto the table and glanced at BA, trying to read the situation. “Uh, did anyone see Mr. Lawton today? He shaved his mustache off.”

Templeton stood up, loudly whipping his tray off the table, and stomped towards the school cafeteria's doorway.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked HM, taking a bite of his sandwich. He made a face and peeled the bread apart. “What in the…I thought they were kidding when they said cream cheese celery and deviled ham.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” nodded BA, pushing his milk back and forth between his hands. “Templeton’s really down. I think he’s upset that Dad has been working so much. Templeton appreciates our Christmas traditions, and having them torn apart isn’t biding well with him.”

“Like when we were kids,” said HM, scraping the deviled ham from his bread. “I mean when Dad was in Korea.”

BA nodded, “Yeah, he took it hardest then, too.”

“But Dad is here!” said HM, dropping a carrot into his cup of water. “We have so much to be thankful for! _Chúng ta không thể đo lường các phước lành của chúng ta_.”

“What?” asked BA, making a face. “You’re talking crazy, fool.”

“It ain’t crazy, BA,” said HM, spinning sideways and setting his feet on the bench. “It’s Vietnamese. I need to know it so I can be a pilot and fight in the war someday if the US gets involved. What I said is, ‘we cannot measure our blessings,’ and it’s true. Some kids didn’t have their dad come back from Korea.”

“Something deeper than that is bothering Templeton,” sighed BA. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Something’s bothering me right now,” said HM, gritting his teeth, “and it’s carrot water.”

*******

“Hiya, Temp,” grinned John, slapping his son’s shoulder as he tossed his gloves onto the shelf above the coat rack. He glanced at BA’s gloves, raising an eyebrow, “Your brother could use a new pair of these, eh? His are falling apart.”

“How was work, Dad?” asked Templeton, tucking his hands into his pockets.

John grinned, but his eyes were tired and distant, “Oh, fine. Just busy. Been hard since the Meyers family moved. They made up half of our workforce.”

“If you were still at the lumber mill, you wouldn’t have to work so hard,” mumbled Templeton, following his father into the kitchen.

“Now, Temp, you know very well I wasn’t making enough money there,” said John, settling into his chair and letting his muscles relax. “The steelworks gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“An offer that included working Sundays and into the night?” asked Templeton, sitting beside his father.

John took a sip of his milk and narrowed his eyes, trying to read Templeton’s mood. He was aware his son hadn’t been quite himself lately, but this was the first time they had talked one-on-one in a few days, and it was apparent Templeton was upset about something. “What’s bothering you, kid?” asked John, stirring the soup Templeton had warmed up for him.

“Nothing’s bothering me,” lied Templeton, running his fingers through his blonde hair. “I just hate to see you working so much, especially around the holidays.”

“Heh, well, we all gotta do things we don’t like,” yawned John. He twisted, trying to stretch his back. “Work is scarce in these parts and I’m doing all I can. But I promise I’ll be home on Christmas Day. The plant will shut down that day.”

“Yeah, that’ll be nice,” said Templeton, forcing a smile. “Uh, say, Dad-” The phone rang, cutting Templeton off. “Oh, I’ll get it,” he said, standing and hurrying into the living room. A few minutes passed, and then Templeton dashed back in, leaning forward through the doorway and supporting his weight on the framing. “Dad, that was…oh.”

John had slid down in his chair, long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, his head supported on the backrest of his seat, fast asleep.

“It was HM,” whispered Templeton, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “He and BA are on their way home from the library. Also, I have a problem, and you’re the only one I want to tell about it, but I am having a hard time opening up.” Templeton stopped and sighed so profoundly he felt a little light-headed. “Good night, Dad. See you for a few short minutes in the morning before we all go our separate ways and spend no time bonding as a family.”


	3. On the Third Day of Christmas Temp's Being All Angsty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I subconsciously write fic just to torture Face. Why do I do this.

**DAY THREE**

“On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a dry fountain pen,” whispered Templeton, tossing his pen down onto the desk. It clattered against the wooden surface much louder than he had anticipated.

“Mr. Smith,” hissed Miss Buck.

Templeton flushed and nodded an apology. Noise during a quiz in Miss Buck’s class was prohibited. He sighed, staring at his half-finished quiz paper. He could raise his hand and request another pen, but he didn’t really care about finishing the assignment anyway. Templeton dropped his hands to his jeans just in case he had slipped a pen into his pocket but only found what he didn’t need: a pencil. Miss Buck did not allow the use of pencils during quizzes. She was one of the most demanding teachers Templeton had ever had, and he decided that upsetting her by not finishing the examination was precisely the level of annoying he wanted to be that afternoon.

“Mr. Smith,” came Miss Buck’s voice in his ear. “Do you intend to sit here staring at the wall, or are you going to finish your quiz.”

“I’m going to stare at the wall,” replied Templeton.

Four and a half minutes later, Templeton was sitting outside the principal’s office, his foot bouncing anxiously and his hands clasped, rubbing together in a circular motion. It was while he sat there, mumbling to himself about how uninterested Miss Buck seemed in his education and how he wished it were Christmas vacation already, that he saw her. Deborah Garrety.

Beautiful green eyes. Dark hair, wavy but not tight curls, always worn in two bunches on either side of her head. She was wearing the green sweater, the one she’d had on the day Templeton had accidentally knocked into her in the hallway last week. The gray skirt, which seemed to be her favorite. The shoes, of course, were saddle shoes.

Templeton could name every outfit he’d ever seen her worn and describe her facial expressions based on every situation he had seen her in. Surprised, her face would remain unchanged with a slight raise of the eyebrows. Happy, the corners of her lips would pull up, creating deep dimples in both cheeks. Focused…

“Templeton!”

The stern tone of Mr. Lang yanked Templeton from his train of thought, and the boy jumped to his feet, running his hands automatically over his clothes to make sure he looked put-together and neat. “Mr. Lang,” he nodded, wincing as his voice cracked.

“Join me in my office, Templeton,” ordered Mr. Lang, stepping aside and holding out his hand.

Templeton hung his head, slipped past the principal, and waited nervously, twisting his hands and shifting his feet.

*******

“Temp! Temp! Hold up! Wait!” HM’s loud voice carried down the street, and the pounding of his sneakers warned Templeton that his younger brother was fast approaching. “Temp! Temp.” HM slowed to a jog beside his brother, breathing hard from his hard run. “Temp, did you go? To Mr. Lang’s office? The gang said you got sent to the office. Did you get sent to the office? They said they didn’t know why. What happened-”

“Gee whiz, HM!” snapped Templeton. “Lay off. It doesn’t affect you in any way.”

“What has got your britches in a bunch, Templeton Smith?” asked HM, running around in front of his brother and skipping backward.

“HM!” seethed Templeton, glancing at the group of girls they had just passed. They giggled at HM’s phrasing, poking and whispering to each other.

“Oh, come on, champ, you can tell me anything,” urged HM. He yelped when he backed into a trashcan, slipping to the snowy ground and rolling over the can, the lid clattering to the street. Templeton stomped past him, ignoring the group of people hurrying to help his younger brother.

“Crazy ankle-biter,” he mumbled, kicking an icy stone down the sidewalk. He jumped when it knocked into a shoe, bringing a yelp from the person ahead of him. He looked up and froze, finding himself staring at beautiful, wavy ponytails peeking out from under the pink beret of Deborah Garrety.

She turned, her eyebrows lowered and mouth slightly open as it did when she was confused. “Oh, Temp!” she greeted, a smile stretching across her pretty face and the beautiful eyes instantly sparkling.

“D…Deb…h…h…I…uh, mm. I did…there…w…w. Uh, heh,” he hurried along, shoving his right hand into his pocket and using his left arm to pull his school bag close to his chest. Templeton’s face burned, and he whimpered, clenching his teeth as he broke into a run. His heart was pounding, and it felt like his ears were hot enough to fall off. It occurred to him that he probably looked like a total idiot, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving, and in seconds his legs were pumping at full speed, carrying him around the corner and towards home.


	4. On the Fourth Day of Christmas They Meet Quite Secretly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temp, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry...

**DAY FOUR**

“On the fourth day of Christmas,” BA hunched over the engine he was rebuilding, squinting as he bolted a piece back on, the fading light affecting his eyesight, “my true love gave to me a Porsche four-cylinder.” A little grin tugged at his mouth as he daydreamed of working on a 1957 Porsche 550A Snyder like the one he’d seen in the magazine down at Garfield’s Garage that weekend. After helping Rick, Jr. rebuild a carburetor that was giving the mechanic trouble, he'd flipped through the booklet, enjoying the foreign and fancy cars he never got to see in their small town. BA reached down, wiping his greasy hands on the torn overalls he wore. Every time he did mechanical work, he managed to make a huge mess, and John had forbidden him from working inside after an incident several months ago stained part of the living room floor black. BA blew on his hands, the chilly air making his fingers tingle. He decided he was finished for the evening and was just about to head inside when he heard voices on the sidewalk.

“Hey, Deborah,” came HM’s recognizable voice.

“Hello, Henry,” replied a low, pretty tone. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, too,” said HM.

BA slipped quietly toward the door, deciding the two teenagers had probably not noticed him, and he didn’t wish to catch them off guard. He had seen Deborah Garrety and HM talking earlier that day during lunch, and he figured if they wanted to stare lovingly into each other’s eyes under the moonlight, he wouldn’t stick around and make it uncomfortable.

Once inside, BA hung his coat on the rack and removed his sneakers, rubbing his hands together furiously and blowing hard on his fingers. “Hey, Temp!” he called. “I thought you were starting a fire!”

“I’m working on it, BA,” said Templeton, coming into the living room from the kitchen. “Don’t get all worked up.” He walked to the door and pulled on his boots and coat. “I need to go out and get some kindling from the shed,” he said, slipping his gloves on.

“Don’t go that way!” said BA, heading to the kitchen with the intent to heat some water and warm his hands. “HM is out on the sidewalk with that Garrety girl.”

Templeton froze. It felt as if the blood in his body rushed to his head, and his ears buzzed with high-pitched ringing. His muscles tensed, and he slowly turned to look at BA, trying to maintain a calm façade. “Um, Deborah?” Templeton asked, steadying himself against the wall as his sense of balance waned.

“Yeah,” called BA from the kitchen. “She and HM were talking at school today. I figure they out there holding hands or something. No use interrupting them.”

“They _are_ out there,” corrected Templeton, his voice shaking slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” snapped BA. “I got bigger things to focus on than grammar.”

The shock of learning HM and Deborah were meeting mixed with BA’s response made Templeton very upset, and he felt his face turning bright red in anger. Forgetting he was wearing his dirty snow boots, Templeton stomped up the stairs and locked himself into his bedroom, leaving a trail of muddy boot prints on the steps.

*******

“Boys!” John shut the door against the cold December air and hung his coat, glancing at BA’S torn gloves. He sighed, narrowing his eyes. “Gotta get that boy some new gloves,” he murmured under his breath, hanging his hat.

“Dad!” yelled HM, bounding into the living room. He threw himself at John, wrapping his arms around his father’s chest. John grinned, squeezing his youngest son. The boys were long past the days of snuggling on the easy-chair or crawling into his bed on stormy nights, but HM still needed several strong hugs a day, and John willingly gave them, feeling a little empty when his boy would pull away after a few seconds. “Dad, we made soup for dinner. Sorry, I know we just had soup. It’s kind of all we really know how to make.”

John chuckled, “I know. I appreciate you boys making supper every night. You all are putting up with an awful lot this Christmas.”

“No sweat, Pops,” grinned HM, hooking his arm around his dad and walking him into the kitchen. “Let’s eat. BA and I haven’t had anything yet. We wanted to eat with you.”

For some reason, the fact that they had waited made John’s heart swell, and his freezing body flooded with a comfortable warmth. The three young men sat around the table to enjoy their meal—three young men. John smiled. That’s precisely what they were. His boys were becoming men, and he, while certainly getting older, was still only thirty-one-years-old. It always felt strange that his friends were parenting toddlers and new babies while his children were practically adults. But he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Um, where is Temp?” he asked, taking a sip of the weak coffee BA had made.

“He won’t come out of his room,” replied HM, his voice dropping from the normal ear-piercing decibel he preferred. He sighed, “I couldn’t even entice him with the melted marshmallow I stirred into some water.”

“What?” said BA, making a face. “That wouldn’t entice anybody, fool.”

“BA,” said John, raising an eyebrow. It was pointless. He had long since learned BA’s terminology and expressions were never going to change, and it was generally not worth wasting one’s breath to correct the boy.

BA grunted his form of apology and gulped down some milk.

HM leaned back in his chair, tapping his feet against the base of the table. “Mm, I should take some soup to Temp. Should I take some soup to Temp, Dad? He can have mine.”

“There’s more soup on the stove,” said BA.

“I should get some for him,” said HM, jumping up from his chair and dashing into the kitchen.

“HM!” called John. “Come back, son. Don’t worry about Templeton. I’ll go up after we eat and see what’s bothering him.”

HM came back, dropping into his chair, and groaned, “Uh, I don’t like it when Temp is all grumpy and down in the mouth. Makes my inside jittery and jiggly. Especially when I have news…well, never mind.”

“News?” asked John.

HM chuckled nervously, “Uh, it’s nothing, Dad. You know. Christmas. Can’t tell ya. Anyway, I miss Temp. He’s been all messed up for days now.”

*******

Templeton threw his pillow at the bedroom door and kicked the wall, “I said, go away, HM!”

The door opened, and light from the hallway flooded the dim room, silhouetting a tall, lean frame. “Templeton,” said John.

Temp gulped, embarrassed at the tone he had just used with his father. “Oh, hiya, Pop,” he nodded. “Sorry, sir, I thought you were HM. He’s been bothering me all…all day.”

“Mmhmm,” nodded John, flicking on the light switch and bending down to retrieve the pillow. “He seems a little worried about you. You ready to tell me what’s been bothering you for the past week?”

“No,” said Templeton. “Because nothing is. Actually, what’s bothering me is that no one will leave me alone. I just want to have my space and not worry about everyone bursting into my room or screaming for no reason, as HM seems to find thoroughly enjoyable.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say he screams,” grinned John. “Yelling, yes. And as for having space, you are the only boy with your own bedroom, and you spend most of your time in it. Any reason you didn’t join us for supper tonight, kid?”

“Wasn’t hungry,” said Templeton. It was true. He couldn’t eat if he tried.

“Temp, tell me what’s wrong,” urged John, stepping close to his son and looking deep into the boy’s eyes. He could see pain. He could also see fear. It was as if Templeton were afraid to open up, and it hurt John that his boy didn’t feel comfortable enough to share and allow John to help.

Templeton dropped his gaze, shifting his feet nervously, “Look, Pop, nothing is wrong, okay. Could I just be alone for the night?”

John stood still, staring down at his son, trying to will the boy to look back. Templeton just studied at his socks, his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. “Alright,” said John. “Well, come down if you get hungry. Or if you want to talk. I’ll be there.”

“You’ll go to bed in a half-hour,” snapped Templeton, immediately regretting how harshly his words came out.

John stepped mid-stride and took a deep breath. It took a lot of willpower not to grab Templeton and hold him tightly, hugging him and comforting him until the boy spilled his problems. But that would only embarrass and upset the teenager. “Good night, Temp,” said John. “I love you.”

He left, turning off the light and gently shutting the door.

Temp stood still in the middle of the dark room for a few minutes, frozen in place, before finally letting his tense muscle relax. “Help me, Dad,” he whispered. “My heart is hurting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to play a game called "how miserable can I make Templeton "Faceman" Peck in literally every fic I write" and I always do incredibly well. I'm sorry, Temp. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry...


	5. On the Fifth Day of Christmas BA Sees Something Neat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Temp, you get a break this chapter.

**DAY FIVE**

“On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me five golden rings!” sang BA, hurrying down the sidewalk on his way to the mechanic shop. He grinned. Five golden rings sounded nice. He did like gold, and he liked gold a lot. BA’s hands crammed deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and his chin pulled down into his coat to retain body heat. It was frigid, and the snow that blew against him wasn’t helping.

BA stopped, the window of Cannell’s Department Store drawing him in with it’s pretty Christmas décor and seasonal displays. Cannell’s had only recently come to the small town, and it was the fanciest store in the area. John said the department store was vastly out of place, and he didn’t think it would last financially. BA hoped it did, though. He liked seeing the new things displayed and the fancy jewelry sometimes propped up in the windows. A Santa seated in the middle of the store caught his eye, and he watched as a little girl crawled up on the actor’s lap, her face stretched wide in a smile. It made BA grin to see the Christmas spirit within the store.

Turning to continue to the garage, BA only made it several feet before something in the corner of the window display caught his eye. It was a watch. A very nice watch, for that matter. BA thought about how down-hearted Templeton had been lately. His mind catapulted wildly between not wanting to spend money on Templeton because of the annoyance the older boy had been and BA wishing to make his brother feel good by presenting him with a pleasant surprise. Templeton did like fancy things. That was something BA and Templeton had in common. Shiny, fancy jewelry. Though BA preferred bulky gold, and Templeton seemed to enjoy silvery, elegant things.

BA patted his pocket, feeling the outline of the five-dollar bill he had tucked there. He’d planned on using it down at the garage today to pick up some parts he needed for his engine, but maybe he didn’t need to worry about that until later.

*******

“Twelve dollars?” asked HM, raising an eyebrow. “And you’ve got five? I’ve got four dollars in a sock of Dad’s that I buried in the dirt floor of the shed.”

“You did what?” asked BA.

“Buried…it doesn’t matter,” said HM, wrapping his arms around his shivering body as they stood in the cold night air on the porch. “But we only have nine dollars. Where are we going to get another three dollars?”

BA shrugged, “I won’t get paid again for a few weeks. I’m working off the engine Ricky gave me. We could shovel some driveways this weekend.”

“Nobody’s going to pay us an entire three dollars to shovel a driveway,” said HM, throwing a snowball towards the road and watching as it splatted against the pavement. “You could have told me this was going to be a long conversation. I’m freezing.”

“I didn’t tell you not to wear a coat,” shot back BA. “Now listen, we could each make a few dollars easily if we shovel some driveways. We can get three dollars for sure.”

“Alright, sounds like a plan,” nodded HM, blowing on his now dripping wet hand from the snowball. “I’ll find a house this weekend. Let’s just hope it snows, or that idea will flop. My hand’s going to get hyperthermia. I’m going inside. Temp better appreciate this because if he doesn’t shake his moody attitude, I’m going to kiss him full on the mouth until he plasters on a smile.”

“How would that help?” asked BA, following his brother into the warm, inviting living room.

“No one can deny the warmth of my loving kisses,” said HM, his eyebrows furrowing and his lip curling in a rather unattractive way.

BA shook his head, currently fed-up with both of his brothers, “You are crazy, man. Absolutely crazy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing as fun as writing goofy HM.


	6. On the Sixth Day of Christmas John's POV We Read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love it when the sixth day of Christmas chapter comes together.

**DAY SIX**

“On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six ropes a’fraying.” John made a face, partly humored and partly hoping no one had heard him sing that. HM’s little jingle was rubbing off on him. John tugged hard, trying to get the old, worn rope to hold together the base of the machine he was currently fixing. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Not only broken machines but a terrible rope. I can’t – ah!” The base clicked into place, and he quickly tied a knot, securing the rattling device together. “Ha! I love it when a plan comes together,” grinned John, shaking his head.

“We’re calling it, John!” shouted the foreman above the noise of the machines. “Shut it all down and go home. We’ll get some men in to fix this mess tonight. Start fresh in the morning.”

John looked down at his handiwork and sighed, “Well. At least I had a moment of satisfaction.” He shrugged, switched off the machine, and strode to the door to gather his things. Complaining about going home early was not something he planned on doing, especially after an entire week of working late.

Another upside of working at the steelworks was that it was much closer to home than the lumber mill had been. John was still saving gas and saving a lot of time walking as well. He hurried home through the chilly afternoon air, pulling his coat tightly around him after he slipped his gloves on. The sidewalks were reasonably clean, so John could move along quickly without fear of falling. He was walking so fast that he only barely glanced into the window of Cannell’s, but it was enough for two young people to catch his eye. John slid to a stop, rocking slightly as his shoe hit some slushy snow, but he righted himself and stepped closer to the window, squinting against the bright light shining from the Christmas display in the window. Was that – it was! HM and a girl John didn’t recognize were hovering over a display case, pointing at whatever was inside and discussing something very intently. John saw HM’s eyes flash as the teenager looked at the girl, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “Seems you’ve found a friend, haven’t you, kid,” John said, a broad grin stretching across his face. The girl turned slightly towards John, and he raised an eyebrow, “Oh! The Garrety girl. Well, well, HM. How about that.” The Garrety’s were among the wealthier people in town, but despite their influence and money, the entire family was very down-to-earth and friendly.

John turned away, determining to give the young people their privacy, and continued on his way home, whistling to himself and pleased with how happy HM had seemed. John loved to see his boys happy. His smile fell, though, when he remembered Templeton. The memory of breakfast that morning flashed through his head when Templeton had broken a glass and merely stomped out of the room, leaving BA to clean up the mess. Whatever was bothering the boy was too hard for Templeton to bring up himself, but John wasn’t sure how to broach the subject without being pushy or intrusive.

Turning up the front walk, John saw BA bent over the engine that had taken up permanent residence on the porch. “Hi, son,” he greeted, climbing the steps and patting BA on the shoulder.

“Hi, Dad,” said BA, glancing up slightly before turning his attention back to his work. “Almost got this piece all clean.”

“You’re doing a great job, BA,” encouraged John, looking the engine over. “I didn’t learn stuff like this until I joined the Army. Well done, kid.”

“Thanks, Dad,” nodded BA, obviously too engrossed to carry on a conversation.

John rubbed the teen’s head before going inside, shaking the snow from his hair so it wouldn’t melt down his shirt. “Temp!” he called, hanging his coat. “You home, son?”

A shuffle came from above, and then a door creaked open. “Yeah!” called Templeton from his bedroom.

“Come down here a minute!” called John, removing his snow boots and sliding on the shoes he kept by the door.

There was a moment of silence, during which John imagined Templeton was trying to think of an excuse, before an audible sigh followed by a “yes, sir.”

John went to his chair and sank in, enjoying the relaxation of his aching muscles. He closed his eyes but immediately opened them again, the threat of a nap far more powerful than he had anticipated.

“Yeah, Dad?” asked Templeton, appearing part way down the staircase.

“Come here, kid,” urged John, nodding toward the chair beside him.

Templeton looked back up the stairs then let out a short puff of air, “Uh, yeah, sure, Pops. Say, you’re home early.”

“Mmhmm, trouble with the machines,” explained John. “They had to call in some special repairman. Let us go home early. Have a seat, Temp.”

Templeton sat down on the edge of the chair, obviously not wanting to be there and stared at his hands.

“How are things at school, kid?” asked John.

“Dad, I know what you’re doing,” said Templeton. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but please let me handle this. Yes, something is bothering me. I obviously can’t hide that, but please don’t force me to tell you what it is. I promise you it’s nothing dangerous or life-threatening. Please, Dad.”

John chuckled, rubbing his forehead, “Was I that obvious calling you down? Alright, Temp, if that’s the way you want it. But you promise me right now that if it is something really important or bad that you’ll tell me. I mean it, son. Don’t try to hide anything about your health or safety from me.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” assured Templeton, twisting his hands uncomfortably. “Can I go back upstairs? I have homework.”

John tipped his head back, sighing, “Yes, Temp. But please join us for supper tonight.”

“I will,” nodded Templeton, already across the room and starting back up the stairs. He paused and made eye contact with his father, momentarily, “I’m glad you’re home early, Pops. We’ve missed you.” Then he thudded back up and closed himself into his bedroom.

*******

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Templeton hissed under his breath, punching his pillow with all the strength he had. “He was right there! He was offering! He gave you the opportunity! You stupid, stupid guy! Why didn’t you tell him!” Templeton buried his face in the pillow and let out a muffled, slightly reserved yell.

He didn’t move until John called him down for supper an hour later, and before he went down, Templeton stopped in the bathroom to scrub the tear streaks from his cheeks.


	7. On the Seventh Day of Christmas A Guest Brings Harmony

**DAY SEVEN**

“On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me seven swans a-swimming - ”

Templeton switched off the record player, the smooth tones of the crooner dying away. “HM, I’m tired of listening to this over and over!” he shouted. There was no reply. HM must have gone outside. “BA!” called Templeton. “Where are you guys?” No answer. Templeton sighed and dropped into his father’s chair, wriggling down into the comforting nooks and crannies his body knew so well. The chair was beaten and worn, but it seemed like an old friend. Templeton furrowed his brow, his thoughts momentarily gliding over the idea of buying a new chair for his father. That was impossible, though. He didn’t have that kind of money. How much was a new chair? Forty dollars or more? Dream money.

Looking out the window, Templeton almost would have believed someone had hung a white sheet over the pane if he didn’t know it was snowing. He had stopped shoveling the driveway for a moment that morning as John left for work, leaning against his shovel and watching his father trudge down the sidewalk, the light just barely dawning across the sky. Saturday. No one should go to work on Saturday.

Templeton stood from the chair, crossing the room and bending to look out at the snow globe world outside. It wasn’t a pleasant Christmas snow; it was hard, heavy snow, covering everything in its path. “Gonna have to shovel again later,” muttered Templeton, “but not for any reason. It’s not like we use the driveway. Stupid gas prices.” He spun on his heel, pacing back and forth between the Christmas tree and the front door. “Pros of Christmas. Love is in the air, time with family, joy to mankind. Cons of Christmas, my brother stole my girl, my father works ridiculously long hours and still can’t afford to drive his car, and I haven’t felt joy in days.”

“Joy isn’t an emotion, darling. We choose joy.”

“Ah!” cried Templeton, tripping over his own feet and stumbling against the sofa. He looked toward the kitchen and saw Grandma, a gentle smile on her face and a Christmas apron tied around her waist. “Oh, Grandma!” he cried, hurrying across the room and embracing the beloved grandparent. Gone were the days when she could scoop him up and hold him close. Not only was she getting older, but Templeton was nearly ten inches taller than her.

“Hello, Templeton,” she chuckled, holding her oldest grandson close. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m f….” Templeton stopped, the word frozen on his lips. He pulled free of her hug and shrugged, “Not so hot, Grandma. I don’t know.”

“And would you like to share anything with me, dear?” asked Grandma, raising an eyebrow. She hadn’t been aware that something was bothering Templeton, but after hearing his little rant and seeing the look on his face, she was more than willing to lend a listening ear.

“It’s just that…how did you get inside?” asked Templeton, suddenly realizing he had never heard the back door open.

“You were yelling at the record player,” smiled Grandma. “You seemed a bit pre-occupied, so I put away some groceries I bought and hoped you would work things out. It seems you need a little support, though, and I am more than willing. Now, how about you take a seat and tell me all about it, hm?”

Templeton sat down immediately in John’s chair. This was his chance to get it all out, and he wasn’t going to blow it again. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

*******

“Ah, BA!” shrieked HM, his voice carrying down the street to where his brother worked feverishly to shovel the quickly falling snow from a driveway. “It never stops!”

“You sound like someone is killing you!” called back BA. “Do you gotta scream like that?”

“It isn’t screaming; it’s expressing myself!” shouted HM. “And I’m expressing great annoyance at the snow that instantly fills in where I have just shoveled. We aren’t making any headway! This is pointless!”

“Mrs. Barclay didn’t give you seventy-five cents to give up after five minutes,” shot back BA. “Keep working.”

HM let out a high pitched whine, though he continued shoveling, piling the snow beside the drive. “I’m shoveling the snow,” he sang, “shoveling the snow. It doesn’t do any good because the snow will never stop. It’s burying me alive, burying me alive. I’m going to die and going to scream and shout I want to drink some pop!”

“Shut up, fool!” called BA, hurling a shovel full of snow towards HM, though the three driveways between them proved too far even for BA’s strength.

HM stuck out his tongue but whimpered and pulled it back in. “My spit is freezing inside my mouth!” he cried, stomping his feet hard to warm them up. “I wanna go home, BA. Templeton doesn’t even like watches! I know he doesn’t! Just last night, he said to me, ‘HM, I hate watches,’ and I just forgot to tell you before we came out today.”

“Shovel, before I come over there and wallop,” threatened BA.

That quieted the younger boy, but he pouted to himself for the next half hour as his aching back and arms screamed with every shovel load he moved.

*******

“Ah, home at last!” gleamed HM, bursting through the front door. “Oh, hey, a beautiful fire. Temp actually came out of his bedroom to do someth…Grandma!” Forgetting his snow-covered boots, HM dashed across the floor and enveloped his grandma in a hug, lifting her clear off her feet.

“Oh, Henry!” she cried, giggling slightly. “Put me down, young man.” She laughed, slapping his shoulder as he lowered her to the ground. “Good heavens, you’ve grown, child. You must be nearly as tall as Templeton, now.”

“Grandma, you never come to see us!” said HM, taking her hands in his own. “We miss you! Two hours is too far. Move closer. Move in with us!”

“A lovely thought, dear,” smiled Grandma, “but these little trips are such a treat. Oh, BA!” She hurried across the room to greet the newest arrival, and he embraced her warmly, as happy as HM to see his grandmother. “I’ve come to cook you a hearty meal and celebrate Christmas a little early,” explained Grandma, motioning for the boys to follow her into the kitchen. “I have Templeton peeling potatoes. We will have a feast tonight. I can’t believe that steelworks, making your father work such long hours. Outrageous. HM, get a rag and clean up the snow you’ve tracked. And take your boots off. BA, wash your hands and sit by the fire until you’ve warmed up, then come in here and help me cut up these vegetables. Go on, no time to lose! I know you’re all hungry, and this food isn’t going to prepare itself.”

“Yes, ma’am!” chorused HM and BA, their bodies frozen but hearts warmed at finding their grandmother in their home. The three boys adored Myrna and, since they didn’t have a mother, often thought of her in that station. Her commanding tones were not only respected but welcomed. A little order made them feel safe and loved.

HM knelt, mopping at the snow he had tracked in, and took the opportunity to study Templeton’s face. His older brother was conversing back and forth with Grandma, and there was a definite sparkle in Temp’s eyes that hadn’t been there that morning. HM smiled. Leave it to Grandma to fix even the moodiest brother’s problems.

“Grandma!” piped up HM, utterly unaware that he had just interrupted a conversation regarding easy-chairs between Templeton and Grandma. “Can we wait and all eat together once Dad gets home?”

“Of course, dear,” nodded Grandma, setting a kettle to boil so anyone wanting tea could have some. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Oh, boy!” grinned HM, dashing back into the living room, completely covering the area he had just cleaned with more snow and mud. “Dinner as a family! We had one last night, but it was just soup, and Templeton was grumpy! This will be great!”

“I wasn’t grumpy!” called Templeton, but his voice lacked the depressed tone it had held for the past few days.

“I can’t believe it!” shouted HM, kicking his boots off and launching them across the room toward the door, “it’s a Christmas miracle! On the first day of Christmas, my grandma gave to me a Templeton that wasn’t grumpy!”

*******

After supper had been cleared away and Grandma had retired to Templeton’s room, as he had selflessly offered up his bed to her for the night, the boys sat with their father by the fire as he read the newspaper. They were quiet aside from HM’s low humming, and after a few minutes, the two youngest boys announced they were turning in, both exhausted from their long day of shoveling snow. Combined, they had made eight dollars, plenty of money to purchase the watch from Cannell’s. There was a chorus of goodnights, and then it was Templeton and John, sitting in the quiet house.

“You gonna bunk with me tonight, kid?” asked John, scanning the wanted section. He didn’t intend to change jobs, but he wouldn't turn it down if something too good to pass up appeared.

“Dad, can I talk to you?” asked Templeton.

John immediately folded the paper, hoping this was the talk he had been longing to have with his son. “Of course, Temp,” he nodded.

Templeton shuffled closer to the fire, leaning back and resting his weight on his hands and stretching his legs out before him. “Someone told me today that joy isn’t an emotion, but a choice. Do you believe that?” he asked.

“I do,” nodded John. “Grandma tell you that? Heh, I’ve heard that many times. It’s true, though it seems hard to believe. Happiness is something we have no control over, but joy is a little easier to bring about. Or harder. It depends on how you look at it.”

“Well, that confuses me even further, but I still think I’ll try to choose joy,” said Templeton. “Anyway, that’s not entirely what I wanted to say. I guess I’ve been a bit of a baby lately. I have this – I have – well, I don’t _have_ – there’s this girl, you see. I like her quite a bit, but I was having a hard time talking about it, and then…” Templeton stopped, hanging his head. He pulled his body up and crossed his legs, leaning forward and running his finger along the grains of wood in the flooring. “It’s Debbie Garrety. And I saw her and HM together. I didn’t even know they…” he stopped, sighing.

John felt a twinge, and he winced, finally understanding the tension their household had been experiencing. “I see,” he said, moving forward in his chair. “I see.”

“It isn’t HM’s fault,” said Templeton. “At first, I thought it was, but that was just because I wanted to blame someone. It’s nobody’s fault but my own. I’ve liked her for almost a year now, but I’ve been too scared to speak to her. HM’s just so natural and at ease with himself, and he swooped in before I had a chance. Or before I got brave enough.”

“And that’s why you’ve been a little down then,” nodded John. “I suppose it doesn’t help that I’ve been practically non-existent here at home.”

Templeton shrugged, “We sure do miss you, Pop. It’s strange not having you here. We decorated the tree ourselves this year.”

John felt incredibly guilty when he saw the sorrow flash across Templeton’s face. It hadn’t occurred to him that something as simple as decorating the tree could mean so much to the boys. “Yes, I’m sorry, Temp,” nodded John.

“But it isn’t your fault!” assured Templeton, scooting up to his knees. “We need the money, and you’re doing all you can. I know all these problems I’m having aren’t really bad things, just hard things. And if I’d start thinking more about others and less about myself, I’d probably be happier. I’m sorry I’ve been such a wet blanket lately. I know I haven’t made things easy for you when you come home tired and see me cranky and a regular heel.”

John slid down to the ground and moved close to his son, “Templeton Smith, I am awfully proud of the thoughtful young man you are becoming.” He had fully been expecting a long, difficult conversation, and it was a pleasant surprise to learn that Templeton had seemed to work things out himself, though John heavily suspected Myrna had played a part in that. The pride John felt for his son was truly overwhelming.

“Oh, Dad!” moaned Templeton, rolling his eyes. “I’m fifteen; you can’t say things like that to grown men.”

John laughed, “Alright, grown man. I’m proud of the thoughtful grown man you are becoming.”

“That’s not what I meant…uh, Dad,” sighed Templeton, but despite his claims at growing up, he shuffled closer and leaned against John’s shoulder, casting aside his fear of appearing childish. Right now, with the fire crackling, snow falling, and the tree decorated festively beside them, Templeton felt very much like a child who wanted to be held by his father.

John wrapped an arm around his son, pulling him close and even daring to kiss the top of his head. “I love you, kid,” he said. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you, Dad,” smiled Templeton. He turned, pushing his whole body against John’s chest, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I was getting a little mean with Temp there. It was time to give him some happiness. I mean it's CHRISTMAS for Pete's sake.


	8. On the Eighth Day of Christmas Two Brothers Get Feisty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short. I'm wicked tired so this is just a filler chapter for the day. Can't believe there is only a couple of days left!

**DAY EIGHT**

“On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…” HM stopped, kicking his shoes against the back of the seat.

“HM!” scolded John, shifting behind the wheel. “Let’s not kick my seat, bud.”

“Sorry, Pop,” said HM, “but I can’t get it. Nothing rhymes. I can’t do the eighth day. It’s just milking! What rhymes with milking?”

“Silking?” offered Grandma, smiling over her shoulder to the back of the car.

“I need a real word, Grandma,” replied HM, using his finger to draw stick figures on the foggy window.

BA slapped at his hand from the middle seat, “Silking is a real word.”

HM slapped back, and within fractions of a second, a little scrabble had begun.

“Boys!” thundered John, long since having learned that when he couldn’t physically pull the two apart, only a voice louder than their concentration would work.

The teen boys immediately disentangled and pulled as far from each other as possible, HM crushing against the car door, and BA pressed against Templeton.

“Let’s not ruin a beautiful Sunday,” admonished Grandma, though the antics secretly amused her.

“Yeah, let’s not ruin a perfect Sunday and my perfect suit,” whined Templeton, trying to push BA away. “You’re wrinkling my jacket, BA.”

“I love church,” sighed HM. “The choir sounded majestic today. I think I’ll join the choir, Dad. I’d love to sing soprano.”

“Girls sing soprano,” sneered BA.

“Anyone who wants to sing soprano sings soprano,” shot back HM.

“And we’re home!” announced John with some relief, anxious to get his youngest sons out of the cramped car.

“Lunch!” shouted HM, bursting from the car.

*******

“Tomorrow, you go to Cannell’s and buy the watch,” said BA, peeking out from around the blanket hanging over the edge of HM’s bed. They had shared a bedroom for eleven years, and the bunk bed situation had never changed. HM slept on top, and BA slept on the bottom with a blanket creating a cave-like space.

“Perfect,” nodded HM, hanging over the edge of the bed and sticking his head inside BA’s blanket room. “I have to meet Debbie Garrety there anyway…I mean, never mind.”

“Debbie Garrety?” chuckled BA. “I saw the two of you on the sidewalk a few days ago. Got yourself a sweetheart?” BA laughed his high, plucky giggle.

“What!” shouted HM. “No! I’m saying no more about this. None of your business, Benjamin Andrew Smith.”

“Benjamin Andrew?” growled BA, landing a well-aimed kick between the wooden slats to the mattress above him.

HM yelped, bouncing on his bed, “Hey! Keep your kicks and your nosiness to yourself, Bosco Albert! Debbie Garrety is none of your business! Good night.” The younger boy rolled himself into a cocoon, pressing up against the wall. All was silent for a few minutes. HM sniffed and whispered, “BA?”

“What?” mumbled BA groggily, already slipping into a sleep-like state.

“G’night, buddy,” whispered HM.

BA hummed in response. It was quiet again until BA sighed deeply. “G’night, crazy man,” he mumbled.

HM grinned and pulled his secret teddy bear close, snuggling down low under his blankets and quietly whistling “Silent Night” to lull himself and the bear to sleep.


	9. On the Ninth Day of Christmas HM Gets Hiccup-y

**DAY NINE**

“On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a pretty girl at me glancing,” whispered HM under his breath, his face so red he was sure it matched the giant seasonal bow hanging in the window beside him. “Don’t look at her,” he whispered to himself. “She’ll think you think she’s pretty. You do think she’s pretty, but she can’t think that you think she’s pretty, or you might have to talk to her, and you don’t know how to talk to pretty girls. Well, Debbie is pretty, but she doesn’t count. She’s different. Oh no, she’s coming this way. Oh no, oh no, oh no, ha! Hello.” HM grinned incredibly widely at the girl who now stood beside him.

“Hi, HM,” smiled the girl, reaching a gloved hand up to roll a blonde curl around her finger. “I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”

“Uh…” HM hiccupped and flushed an even deeper red than before. That was embarrassing. When had he gotten hiccups? “Yeah, it’s been a long time.” He had no idea who this girl was.

“Why, HM,” she pouted, her bottom lip protruding, “you don’t remember me, do you?”

HM shook his head, hiccupping again. “No, I guess I don’t,” he said.

“I’m Roberta Oppenheimer! We had arithmetic class together last year!” said the girl, twisting her winter cap further back on her head. “Remember?”

Realization swept over HM, and his eyes widened, “Oh! Yeah, I remember. You look – different.” In arithmetic, Roberta had been the girl no one liked. She was pushy, loud, and very sassy. The Oppenheimer’s had moved away, but now, here Roberta was, and she was taller, slimmer, and looked much more grown-up than HM remembered her being. He cleared his throat, “I thought you moved away?”

“We did!” nodded Roberta, stepping even closer to HM. “We are back visiting Grandmother for the holidays. HM, when did you get so handsome? You were awfully cute last year, but now you are downright dreamy.”

“Huh? Oh, I…” HM stumbled backward, his heart pounding at the rate of a speeding locomotive and his palms suddenly sweaty despite the chilly air. A bit of ice caught his foot, and he slipped, tumbling backward into a large pile of snow cleared from the sidewalk. “Oof!” he grunted, inwardly wincing when he felt the snow immediately soaking his pants.

“HM!” Two voices chorused, and within seconds, two girls hovered over him, offering a helping hand.

“Um,” Roberta glared, “who are…oh, Debbie Garrety. Hmph.”

“Hello, Roberta,” smiled Debbie, her dimples deepening. “How are you?”

“Mm,” grunted Roberta, obviously displeased at Debbie’s arrival. “Come on, HM,” she said, thrusting out her hand.

HM blinked, shifting awkwardly from his seat in the snow, “Uh, I’m alright, thanks. I mean, it’s kind of comfortable.”

“HM,” giggled Debbie, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up.

HM looked at her in surprise, caught off guard by her strength. “Oh, thanks, Debbie,” he nodded, grateful for her arrival. He couldn’t deny that Roberta had grown quite lovely, but she still radiated the same annoying personality he remembered from the year before. However, he also felt a little lousy judging Roberta so quickly. Maybe she had changed in the past year?

“What do you think you’re doing?” snapped Roberta, hands on her hips. “Debbie Garrety, you are always such a goody-two-shoes! I wish you and your rich daddy would stay out of other people’s business! HM is _my_ boyfriend. Keep away!”

“What!” cried HM, his body reacting instantly and flinging itself behind Debbie. “N…no!”

Debbie sighed, shaking her head, “Roberta, I don’t think HM would agree with that, and I’m not trying to steal him, not that he’s yours to have stolen, anyway. Now, if you’ll please excuse us, HM and I have a shopping date.” She emphasized the word date, just to spite Roberta, then turned and linked her arm through HM’s, pulling him into the store.

HM followed along, whimpering. Nope. Roberta was still annoying.

“Don’t worry about her, HM,” said Debbie, turning him around so she could brush the snow from his back and pants. “She’ll only be here a few more days, and then you won’t have to worry about running into her. There, all cleaned off.”

“Young lady!” exclaimed a well-dressed, middle-aged man approaching them. “Was it entirely necessary to cover my floor in this snow?”

Debbie looked down at the snow she had just brushed from HM and then back at the store employee, “Oh dear, I’m sorry, sir. I suppose it does give the place a look of natural décor.”

“A look of…oh!” the man sputtered and blinked, staring at the slowly melting snow that began to spread across the floor. “Oh!” He hurried off, calling to someone about a mop, and Debbie took HM’s hand, pulling him along behind her to a display case full of wallets.

“Alright,” she said, leaning over the glass, “have we decided on the brown?”

HM, his brain still terrified of Roberta Oppenheimer following them into the store, glanced nervously at the front door and nodded, “Uh, yep, yep. Black.”

“No, brown,” giggled Debbie. “HM, don’t worry. She won’t bother us right now. Girls like Roberta get flustered and have to complain to their friends on the phone before they can muster up the courage to be bothersome again. Now, which wallet do you like best? Christmas is in four days! We need to decide.”

HM, hopping back and forth from one foot to the other and rubbing his hands over the wet seat of his pants, looked down into the case and took a deep breath. “Uh. Um. Wallet. We’re picking a wallet,” he said, trying to force his mind away from Roberta and onto Debbie. “No, I wouldn’t go with black. Do you really like black?”

Debbie laughed, shaking her head, “HM! You recommended black, silly boy. Do you like the brown?”

“Brown?” HM looked down into the glass, and his eyes focused on Debbie’s reflection, her sparkling eyes and winning smile appearing clearly below him. Something about her bubbly personality and pretty face calmed him, and he smiled. “Yeah, I like the brown one. It matches more of his outfits. He has a lot of brown tones.”

“Okay, great,” said Debbie. “Oh, I’m so excited! He’s always so nervous to talk to me, and I hope this will make him relax a little. I can’t wait to give it to him! Do you think Cannell’s will gift wrap it for me? We should put a ribbon on. What color ribbon? What is Temp’s favorite color?”

HM watched Debbie with admiration, his heart warming when he saw how her eyes glowed when she talked about Templeton. It was apparent she truly liked him, and HM was very excited about the situation. He had never asked Templeton directly, but HM was quite sure his older brother was smitten by Debbie. When the girl had asked him to help choose a Christmas gift for Temp, HM had agreed instantly, thinking of himself as a sort of matchmaker even though the match already seemed to have been made. If he could do anything to help bring Templeton a little happiness, he was all in.

“Pink,” HM said. “He’d never tell anyone that, but he does like pink. I’d use a pink ribbon.”

“Great!” said Debbie, clapping her hands. “Oh, HM, thank you so much!” She hurried around the display case and threw her arms around the boy, squeezing him tightly. “You’ve helped me so much!”

“Anytime,” grinned HM, blushing. “Um, well, if you’re all decided, I have something to buy for Temp myself. A gift from me and BA.”

“Oo, what are you buying?” questioned Debbie.

HM pointed toward the window at the front of the store, where the late afternoon light was bathing the display reindeer in a soft glow. “The watch up there in the window,” he replied. “BA and I earned a whole lot of money. We wanted to get Temp something nice.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, HM!” said Debbie. “Well, I’ll buy the wallet and let you get the watch. Thanks again for your help!” And then she was off, her ponytails bouncing as she hurried off to find an employee.

HM grinned, heading towards the jewelry department to inquire about the watch. Templeton was going to be awfully surprised come Christmas, and HM couldn’t wait to see his brother smile again. HM stopped, remembering two things simultaneously. First, his pants were soaked through in the back and probably looked ridiculous, but more importantly, his hiccups were gone! “Hallelujah,” he said, speaking directly to the young boy standing beside him.

“Huh?” asked the small fellow, wrinkling his nose at HM.

“Never talk to scary girls,” said HM. “They cause hiccups and stress.”

And then he was off, whistling “Jingle Bells” and imagining how wonderful Christmas Day was going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whhaaattttt???? Debbie likes Temp after all? Didn't see that coming! (except I did from the beginning but yeah) Ooooo I can't wait for Christmas Day. Temp is going to be so loved. I mean, he's always loved but sometimes he's a little silly and doesn't realize it.


	10. On the Tenth Day of Christmas HM Invents an Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has literally nothing to do with the rest of the story it's just fighting and fluff. Enjoy.

**DAY TEN**

“On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”

A pillow connected with HM’s face, knocking him to the ground and created an all-out brawl, Templeton, BA, and HM rolling over one another on the floor of the younger boys’ bedroom, pillows flying and feet kicking.

“And what is this about?” asked John, leaning against the doorframe with his toothbrush in his mouth.

“HM won’t stop singing that ridiculous song,” grunted Templeton, kicking BA in the stomach.

“Ouch!” shouted BA, “kick HM, not me!”

“Alright, alright, enough,” chuckled John. He started back to the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Is this any way to treat each other on Christmas Eve Eve Eve?”

“Oh, my gosh!” shouted HM, scrambling free of the tangled limbs and bashing pillows, and racing to the door. “I completely forgot it was Christmas Eve Eve Eve! We’ve gotta put out a plate of dirt for Planta Sauce!”

“What?” asked Templeton, chucking his pillow, and narrowly missing HM.

“Planta Sauce!” yelled HM, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back. He missed Templeton completely and hit BA square in the face.

“Hey!” roared BA, jumping to his feet and barreling across the room. He caught HM around the waist, and the two crashed to the floor, HM screaming at the top of his lungs. They lasted mere seconds before John was pulling them up, grabbing them tightly by the shoulders.

“Okay, enough, boys,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I mean it.”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled BA.

“Yeah, how dare you insult the night of _Rasteniye Sous_!” cried HM, hiding partly behind his father to escape BA’s wrath.

“What is this fool talking about?” demanded BA, trying to reach around John.

HM shrieked and began slapping at BA’s hands, “No, no! Don’t touch me! I can’t be impure on this night of nights!”

“Shut up, crazy!” snapped BA, pushing past John and slamming HM against the wall, pulling his fist back.

“Bosco Albert Smith!” thundered John, grasping BA’s hand and pulling the boy back from HM. He took BA by the upper arm and pulled him across the room, turning him and pushing him directly into the corner.

BA, a bit shocked from hearing his father use his full name and then place him in the corner, blinked in surprise before spinning and trying to step away.

“Oh, no, young man,” said John, placing a hand on BA’s chest. “You turn right back around and face that wall.”

“What?” cried BA. “I’m fourteen!”

“Do fourteen-year-olds act like enraged madmen when their brother is doing absolutely nothing to hurt them?” asked John, crossing his arms and giving BA a pointed look.

“He’s talking crazy!” insisted BA, his anger slowly wearing off and embarrassment taking over.

“Yes, and you’re acting crazy,” replied John, raising an eyebrow.

BA hung his head, sighing, “Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry, Dad. I’ll face the corner.”

John chuckled and pulled his son forward into a hug, “Well, I guess maybe we can forgo that. It is, after all, the night of…uh…” He glanced at HM.

“ _Rasteniye Sous_!” exclaimed HM gleefully. “It is the night of _Rasteniye Sous,_ and on this blessed night, forgiveness runs free! It’s okay, BA. I don’t mind that you tried to murder me and defile my pure face with a black eye.”

The urge to pummel HM practically made BA’s head blow, but he knew his father was right, and he groaned. “Crazy man,” he whispered, pulling free from John and heading toward his bed.

“What is – uh – the – the thing…” Templeton gestured toward HM. “Rasdenye Swas?”

“ _Rasteniye Sous_ is Russian for Planta Sauce,” replied HM, matter-of-factly. “Planta Sauce is the magical fern that comes into homes on Christmas Eve Eve Eve and eats the dirt left out on a plate by wide-eyed believers. We must be pure, or the fern will dry up and die.”

“Oh,” nodded Templeton. “Of course.”

“Don’t worry, HM,” said John. “You can head to bed, and I’ll make sure Planta Sauce gets whatever he needs downstairs.”

HM nodded, smoothing back his hair, “Excellent. If we’ve all been good, we’ll find cabbage seeds under the Christmas tree tomorrow.”

“Cabbage!” cried BA. “I hate cabbage. Couldn’t it be tomatoes or something?”

“No,” said HM, crossing his arms. “Cabbage. It’s a tradition. Now go to bed, BA, or Planta Sauce simply won’t come. Good night.” He ran across the room and scrambled up into his bed, burying himself under the blanket.

John laughed, following Templeton from the room, “Good night, boys. I love you both.” He switched off the light and pulled the door shut. After a good night's exchange with Templeton, John headed downstairs to close up the house and head to bed. He put out the lights and blew out a few candles before starting toward his bedroom. John stopped in the kitchen and smiled, opening a low cabinet. A few minutes later, he placed three small bowls under the Christmas tree with a single pinto bean in each bowl for HM to find in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have a very merry Rasteniye Sous celebration.


	11. On the Eleventh Day of Christmas A Sock Brings Unity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I sorta never brought closure regarding the animosity between HM and Temp, and we know Temp definitely took it out on HM in the scenes we didn't see through ignoring him or whatnot. So here we have a lil cute bit where they get to be buddies again.

**DAY ELEVEN**

“On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eleven vipers sniping, ten gourds a-leaking, nine reindeer prancing, eight spades…”

“Merry Christmas!” interrupted John, grabbing HM by the shoulders and pulling him away from the confused couple, watching them from the front door. “Have a wonderful night!”

“Dad, I was mid-verse!” whined HM, glancing over his shoulder as the puzzled man shut the door.

“I know, HM,” nodded John. “But some people don’t appreciate interpretive art. Let’s keep our Christmas carols to the bland and normal and give the audiences what they really want.”

“Boring songs?”

“Boring songs,” nodded John.

HM groaned, yanking off his mittens and stuffing them into his pocket, “Everyone’s a critic.”

“It’s the way of the world, bud,” said John, stepping around a patch of ice. “Alright, boys, let’s finish up this last house, then head home. I’m thinking there is some hot chocolate calling our name.”

“Yes!” shouted HM, leaping over a snowbank and dashing through the knee-deep snow towards the last home on the block. The others took the shoveled walkway. HM let out a whoop, “Hot chocolate and a raging fire! Let’s belt out “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and get this show on the road!”

After a few carols and a round of Merry Christmases, the Smith family walked home, spirits high and cheeks red from singing and the cold.

*******

Templeton was lying in bed, a book held above his face when HM knocked lightly on the door and slipped inside. “Hey, Temp,” he whispered, “mind if I stop by?”

“Come in,” mumbled Templeton, engrossed in the story. He reached the end of a paragraph and grabbed the piece of cloth he’d been using as a bookmark. “Yeah, what’s up, HM?”

HM sat on the end of Templeton’s bed, twisting a sock in his hands and wriggling his nose up and down. “Uh, well, it’s like this, Temp,” he said, slipping the sock over his right hand and cupping it in his fingers like a puppet, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Norman. Norman, meet Temp.”

“Hi, Norman,” nodded Templeton.

“HM wants to say he’s sorry,” said HM, raising his voice several octaves and working the puppet’s mouth. “He doesn’t know exactly why Temp has been all down and a little upset with him lately, but he’s very sorry for whatever he’s done. He loves Templeton more than he loves anyone in the world, except for BA and the master and commander of our fleet. That means Dad. Sometimes, you sorta ignore him at school, and you haven’t had lunch with him in days. Today you _did_ have lunch with him, and since the weekend, you’ve seemed a little more chipper, but HM still feels bad and wants to apologize. If you’d like, he’d even be willing to sing you a lullaby to help you fall asleep.”

Templeton nodded, a smile pulling at his mouth, “Ah, I see. Thank you, Norman. Do you mind if I talk to HM directly?”

“HM is a little nervous about this whole apology since he doesn’t know what he did wrong, and he doesn’t want to upset Templeton,” replied HM, the puppet lowering its head.

“Can you tell HM that he did absolutely nothing wrong, and Templeton was a great big jerk to treat him so poorly with no explanation?” asked Temp, nudging HM with his foot.

“I’ll tell him,” nodded ‘Norman.’ HM lifted the puppet to his ear and listened intently for a moment before yanking the sock off his hand and chucking it across the room. “Crazy, Norman! Crazy! You can’t just whisper communist plots to me! I’m an American! Are you really not mad, Temp?”

Trying to follow HM’s inner dialogue and words without getting confused, Templeton nodded and scooted close to his brother. “Gosh, no, man,” he said. “And I promise, you did nothing wrong. I was – a horrible brother to treat you so coldly. I was struggling with something personal, and instead of trusting my family for help, I took it out on everyone; you especially. Do you forgive me, HM?”

HM glanced at Norman, “What’s that, Norm? Oh, I’m sorry!” HM dashed across the room and scooped the sock up, holding it close. “He said he loved hypnotism, not communism. I’m sorry, Norman. Forgive me?” The sock puppet, back in place, nodded. “Forgiveness is a good character trait. I’ll follow your example, Normy. Temp, I forgive you. And I love you an awful lot. And I hope we are best friends forever and ever.”

“Of course we will be,” said Templeton, standing and putting his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “And if I ever get out of line, you bring old Norman out to straighten me around, eh?”

HM grinned, lifting Norman to eye level, “Sure thing, Templeton. With Norman on the watch, no one will be enemies on this team of men. We are pals to the end.”

“HM,” said Templeton, his tone growing serious. “I love you, buddy. You’ll always be my brother, and our relationship is too important for me to act like a dummy to you.”

“I love you too, Temp,” smiled HM, his eyes dropping to the ground. Staring at his feet, HM opened his arms wide, and Templeton barreled in, embracing his brother tightly.

Both boys felt like a weight lifted from their shoulders. No fight was too big to tear them apart. They would be brothers and friends forever.

“Norman says you’re crushing his spleen,” said HM, his voice muffled in Temp’s shoulder.

“Tell Norman he doesn’t have a spleen,” replied Templeton, never wanting to let go of his brother. “I’m showing my brother he means the world to me, and Norman will just have to understand.”

And Norman did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Budddiiiesss and OH MY GOSH THERE IS ONLY ONE DAY LEFT. screeeaammmmmmm


	12. On the Twelfth Day of Christmas the World Rests Quietly

**DAY TWELVE**

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, Debbie gave to Templeton a wallet picked out by HM._

“Debbie, I…” Templeton felt his voice catch in his throat. He stared at the beautiful leather wallet, turning it over and over in his hands. “Debbie, I thought you…”

“Do you love it, Templeton?” asked Debbie, oblivious to his confusion in her excitement to present him with the gift. “Do you? Oh, I hope you love it! HM said you’d like the brown one over the black.”

“HM helped you…”

“He helped me choose it!” giggled Debbie, taking the wallet from Templeton and proceeding to open it and show him the different pockets and sections.

Templeton could barely hear a word she said. All he could think of was how wrong he’d been to suspect HM and how unbelievable it was to have Debbie sitting beside him on the porch steps, her cheeks practically crimson from the chilly Christmas Eve air, her hat askew and tipped back on her beautiful waves. Templeton couldn’t stop staring at her sparkling eyes and how delighted they looked. He had never seen someone’s eyes look so honestly joy-filled. Debbie was choosing joy. And it was him.

“Deborah,” he said, interrupting her enthusiastic explanation. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh, well, you’re welcome, Templeton,” she grinned, her mittened hands clasped on her lap. “I’m so glad you like it.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” said Templeton, raising an eyebrow. He felt incredibly calm. Calmer than he ever imagined himself feeling in this situation. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” insisted Debbie. “My present is seeing how happy you are right now.”

“Happy with you,” said Templeton.

“Are you really, Temp?” she said, face glowing.

Templeton nodded, “Yes.”

Debbie grinned and let out a sound that was somewhere between a giggle and a scream. “Oh, Temp, I’m so happy,” she said. “But I have to go home now. Mother said I had to come right back. Merry Christmas, Templeton.”

“Merry Christmas, Debbie,” said Templeton, standing as she did. Debbie stood still as if waiting for something, and like it was the most natural thing in the world, Templeton leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

And then she was gone, skipping down the sidewalk and waving goodnight.

*******

“…and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger because there was no guest room available for them,” read John.

“Beautiful every time,” sighed HM, tipping his head back and staring at the crackling fire. “Just like Christmas.”

“It _is_ Christmas, fool,” said BA, but his voice was calm. “It’s the story of Christmas.”

“Beautiful like BA,” said HM, reaching out a lightly touching BA’s leg with his foot.

“Don’t touch me,” snapped BA, pulling his leg away.

“And shepherds were living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night,” continued John, amused by but ignoring his sons.

“An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were sore afraid,” quoted HM, closing his eyes.

“You got this memorized?” asked Templeton, running his finger over the stitching of his wallet.

“Mmhmm,” nodded HM, tugging the blanket he was using closer around his shoulders. “I tell it to my teddy…to myself every night before bed.”

“He ain’t lying,” grumbled BA. “Hear him whispering in the top bunk all night long.”

“This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger,” finished John. He sighed and closed the family Bible, setting it gently on the side table next to him. “Mm, it’s a good night.” He put his arm around Templeton and pulled his son close. “It’s always a good night when I’m with my boys.”

HM began singing, so quietly it was barely audible, but when the others recognized the tune, they all joined in, “… _the world in solemn stillness lay, to hear the angels sing_.”

*******

_Merry Christmas_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a fun 12 days. Merry Christmas, guys. Unless you are reading this on February 18th or something. In that case, happy regular day.


End file.
